


Enemy, Ally, and Nothing More

by royaltyjunk



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy, heath/legault if you squint really really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyjunk/pseuds/royaltyjunk
Summary: After the campaign, Heath settles in Ilia, because he cannot find it in his heart to return to the country he had once called home.





	Enemy, Ally, and Nothing More

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Ideas: I started this back in June 2016 and just now dug it out of the pile of WIPs in my Google Drive  
> Whoops? Thus begins Avi's campaign of 4k word fics and hopefully I can climb up to 5k but probably not lol
> 
> I kinda really like Heath so I wrote a thing where I make him suffer. So yeah. Have it  
> So like in case you didn't know I REALLY LIKE HEATH YOU CANNOT KEEP ME FROM LOVING THIS MAN
> 
> Also happy Thanksgiving y'all, here's your Thanksgiving gift because I'm horrible and put deadlines for myself and force myself to overwork :^)  
> I'm fine, I promise
> 
> Disclaimer: Gosh I wish I owned Fire Emblem (not really)

After the campaign, Heath settles in Ilia, because he cannot find it in his heart to return to the country he had once called home. Hyperion has no complaints - he doesn't act strangely when Heath suddenly steers him away from the high mountains and grassy plains of Bern and doesn't hate the snow that now greets him every morning.

The three pegasi riders, Florina, Farina, and Fiora, escort him into Ilia and enroll him into the mercenary guild.

"Wyvern riders aren't commonplace in Ilia, but we've had plenty of riders from Bern in the past," Fiora explains as they walk through the halls of the large building. Heath nods, ignoring the strange stares that he gets, the whispers that follow the people who walk away. Sometimes, nervous giggles erupt from young girls, but a simple glare from Fiora is enough to shut them up.

"I'm sorry. Those are the girls training here. They're trainees."

"It's okay," Heath says. "They'll grow up." His voice has a rasp to it that he's never heard, a lowness that he's never noticed.

Fiora looks at him worriedly, but he shakes his head, and she smiles, a happiness in her eyes.

"It's nice to see you're getting better, Heath."

"I…" he trails off, turning his head and looking at his feet. His long green hair falls from the back of his head, blocking the side of his face from Fiora's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Fiora rests her hand on his arm, and he swallows.

"It's fine. I… I am not looking into the past anymore."

Fiora gives his arm a reassuring squeeze before hurrying down the stairs. He follows, brushing his green hair out of his eyes.

There's a large table lit with candles, and a group of people sit around it. Some are polishing weapons, some have quills in hand, scribbling across papers, and some make small talk amongst themselves. They all look up when the group of four files in.

"Commander Fiora," one of the women greets. "Commander Farina, Trainee Florina."

"Mother," Fiora murmurs, bowing. "I have a request for you."

"Does it include this man?" she asks, gesturing to Heath. He lowers his head respectfully.

"Yes," Fiora responds. "His name is Heath. He is a wyvern rider."

"I see," Fiora's mother murmurs, but they can all see the look of disinterest in her eyes. "Very well. We will register him in." She begins to write on a piece of parchment, and then looks up. "You are dismissed."

"Thank you, First Major," Heath says respectfully.

She nods curtly in response, and then Fiora pulls him away. They stay silent on the way up the stairs.

"Um… I'm sorry about the way our mother acts…" Florina pipes up. Heath blinks in surprise, turning to look at her as her voice trails off.

"Why? There's no need. I'm not offended."

"Oh… but…"

"Just leave it, Florina," Farina mumbles tiredly. "If he's not bothered by it, don't bother him about it."

The lavender-haired girl nods hesitantly.

"Would you like to stay in the Guild? Or find an inn in town?" Fiora asks Heath.

"Either is fine. Whichever is more convenient."

"The Guild it is," Farina says, and Fiora turns to look at her sister.

"Farina, can I leave you to find a room for him? I must… run some errands."

"Where are you going, Sis?" Farina asks.

"In town," she responds. "I have to meet someone."

Farina gives her a slightly curious look, but Fiora walks away, and Farina throws up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay." She turns to look at Heath. "Let's go. Florina, you can go back to your room, or train, or something."

Heath nods in agreement. "I can tell I'm making you uncomfortable. Please, do whatever makes you comfortable again."

"Oh…" Florina blinks, then nods. "Thank you, Heath… you're… a good man."

He doesn't respond as she walks away, because he knows if he says something, it's going to be about how he's not a good man, he's a traitor, a horrible person -

"Hey, Heath! Hello!?"

He starts, and looks up to find Farina's already dashed ahead of him. She's waving at him from down the hallway. He hurries to her side, a guilty look on his face.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she says, and leads him up a flight of stairs. "The third, fourth, and fifth floor are living quarters. The higher your rank, the higher floor you'll live, and the better your room will be. Of course, it's all meaningless if you don't live in the Guild."

"I see," Heath murmurs. "So my room will be on the third floor."

"Yeah. Actually, one of my friends just moved to a new unit, so she's not living in the Guild anymore. Why don't you take her room?"

"Oh… alright," he nods. She leads him through a seemingly endless hallway until she suddenly stop. Heath looks at the door. There's a blank slate of wood, and Farina procures a dagger from her pouch.

"Carve your name in."

He takes it and carves his name into the wood.

"There. Now it's yours."

"Thank you, Farina. For everything," he thanks, smiling. "I never would've been able to join the Guild if it weren't for you."

At that, Farina bites her thumb and an anguished look overcomes her. Heath stays put, and Farina sighs, looking up at him.

"Why?" she finally blurts out. "Why'd you join us? You're not looking for fame, or fortune, so why Ilia?"

"I wish to bring Ilia the justice that Bern never had," Heath murmurs, and Farina props a hand on her waist.

"What a noble cause."

And so he becomes known as the Lance of Justice, the man who climbs to the rank of a Commander faster than anyone else, and even if he knows he'll never truly feel at home in Ilia, he can serve them better than he served Bern.

~ / . / . / ~

It's some five years after the Campaign of Fire ended, and he runs into an old companion.

It happens in the deep mountains of the Western Isles, when Heath is flying through the clouded skies surrounding the tumbling cliffs of the mountains that tower over the Isles. There's something soothing about the wind against his face, whipping through his hair and opposing him, until his eyes catch a man dressed in dark blue with lavender hair, sitting beneath a large crevice.

He descends in a spiral, a sensation in his heart that he's familiar with, but has never experienced.

The man makes no move to run, and Heath lands in front of him. In the darkness of the crevice is a single small lantern, placed carefully beside the man. His scar-torn face is illuminated eerily in the candlelight, but the mischievous smirk on his lips has not been stripped from him, even in the harsh conditions he must live in.

"Legault."

"Would you look at that. It really is you."

"Yes," Heath responds softly. "I never expected to find you in a place like this though."

At that, Legault lets out a bitter laugh. "I'll bet."

A silence hangs over them then, and there's something unspeakable in that silence that seems to smother them both. Neither of them dare to speak.

Hyperion twitches, and slowly creeps under the crevice. Raindrops fall, and the first of them catch themselves in Heath's long green hair. Heath steps under the shelter, and Legault is just a step away. Hyperion has curled up in the very corner of the crevice, but even that takes up half of the space under the cliff.

Heath grunts as he clambers on top of Hyperion, and his wyvern doesn't react. He's long grown used to his rider sleeping on top of him, or pressed against his side. It's something they'd had to adapt to when they were on the run, and a hard habit to break at that. There's something nice, in being able to feel that someone is there for you, even if they're not human.

Legault lifts a finger to his lips, and then whispers. A small flame flickers to life, weak and easy to put out. The assassin feeds it to the lantern, and the light grows. There are lanky shadows in the cavern now, Heath's shadow stretched across the wall, and Legault's across the stony floor.

"...You haven't changed," Legault smiles. "I heard you're a mercenary now."

Heath purses his lips. "You've heard correctly. And what about you?"

"A fugitive. I tear down the remainders of the corrupt Black Fang from the inside, and help those being persecuted for standing up and doing the right thing. It's the least I can do for my lost comrades."

"So you're still a fugitive."

Legault chuckles bitterly. "I'm sorry. I said we could be friends as two fugitives. I lied."

Heath tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a fugitive, and you're a mercenary," Legault replies, standing and looking at him incredulously. "You really believe we can still be friends?"

"Legault - "

Then the purple-haired assassin disappears into the night veiled with sheets of rain, and Heath realizes that the man has re-taught him the meaning of the word "ally".

~ / . / . / ~

He doesn't say anything throughout the entire meeting, even when they tell him who his client is, who he'll be meeting with, and who will be his enemy.

"Commander Heath?" asks one of the mercenaries under his command as Heath grabs his lance. He grunts, pulling his long green hair into a ponytail.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, it's just… I…" he trails off, then clears her throat. "You were acting rather strange during that meeting. Are you alright? If you wish to not take up arms to protect House Reglay, you should have told the General."

Heath shakes his head wordlessly, and the sellsword blinks in surprise.

"What do you mean? Commander, you were clearly shaken by the job."

"No, it's nothing. It's not anything bad. It's just… a memory… from long, long ago."

The mercenary gives him a dubious look and opens his mouth to try and argue, but the cold look in Heath's eyes indicates the end of that conversation.

No one else in his squadron tries to defy him or turn him away from taking on the mission, and so he leads them to Etruria under the demand of protecting House Reglay's count and countess, but even he cannot predict the surprise that will meet him when he arrives.

Heath blinks in surprise. "A rebellion?"

The servant of House Reglay bows his head. "Yes. A rebellion has broken out in Etruria. Aquelia has been overtaken, and the king has been taken hostage. It appears the only person standing up to the defects of Etruria and the armies of Bern is Mage General Cecilia, and even she is losing. Your protection of the Count and Countess Reglay is of the utmost importance."

"What of you?" Heath asks, frowning. "If we are to escort them to Nabata, where will you and all the servants go?"

"...We will stay here. We cannot endanger our lieges more than we already have."

"But - "

"Why must you care so much of our lives?" the servant retorts suddenly. "We have devoted ourselves to the Count and the Countess. What happens to us matters not."

"Have you not thought about what your lives mean to the Count and the Countess?" Heath blurts out. "Do you think they would want you to sacrifice your lives for them?"

The servant doesn't say anything, and Heath runs a frantic hand through his hair.

"...My apologies. I did not mean to sound so… pretentious." Heath turns, and steps back onto Hyperion's saddle. "However, I hope you will think about what I said."

He leaves afterwards, in search of a Count and Countess running to Nabata, hoping dearly that his old allies have survived.

Yet, when he's looking them over, he knows he shouldn't have been worried. There's nary a scratch on either of them, and even in their later years, they've managed to leap through holes in Bern's army and shoot down the ones who dare oppose them. There's a half-used Elfire tome in Count Reglay's hand, and the Countess hides another tome under her cape, cloaked by the full quiver of arrows she carries and the large Silver Bow in her hands.

"Heath," Louise murmurs, and he bows deeply.

"Countess Reglay. Count Reglay. It is a pleasure to see you both well."

"Stop that, Heath," Pent urges. "Even if we contracted you, it doesn't mean we can't be equals."

Heath doesn't say anything, but straightens himself, standing up. Louise steps forward, gesturing for Heath to walk with her.

"Come. I will show you your room in the manor."

"Countess Reglay, please - "

"I insist. It's the least I can do for you."

Heath nods. "Very well."

They walk through the hallways of the abandoned manor, making small talk among themselves until Louise stops him in front of his room and asks him the questions he's been dreading to hear.

"What will you do after you've escorted us safely to Nabata?" Louise inquires softly.

"I… truly don't know. If I'm hired for Lycia or if I'm hired for Etruria, it matters not what I think. I must serve them. But… I cannot go back to my homeland. It… pains me too much, to see how my great country has fallen so quickly."

"Then please, for my sake, go to the side of the Etrurian army after this."

"If it's what you wish," he murmurs, and goes to close the door.

"Will you not come and see Priscilla after this war?"

The mention of the elephant in the room makes him freeze up, and he looks up at Louise, who is watching with expectant eyes.

"She misses you very much."

"I know," Heath murmurs, licking his dry lips. "But I can't. I… my duty can only be to the ones who pay me."

"Such is the life of a mercenary," Louise murmurs sorrowfully. Heath nods in agreement. "Very well. Would you like me to tell her something then, in your stead?"

"Countess Reglay, I couldn't possibly - "

"I am asking this of you as a friend, not as the countess of Reglay."

Heath pauses, then closes his eyes. They both know there's no guarantee that the words will reach her. After all, war is war. It is not merciful, nor is it kind. Still, he can't stop himself from searching his mind for the right words.

"Tell her I'm sorry. And… that my heart will never waver. She will understand."

Somehow, he knows that Louise has already deciphered the meaning behind his words.

~ / . / . / ~

It's months after the war has begun, when Etruria has been freshly liberated and the Etrurian people are still celebrating late into the night, when he meets her again.

He sits on a balcony railing, Hyperion curled up behind him. His lance is tucked precariously under his arm, and feels the wind blow at his face, lifting his long green hair into the air.

He runs a hand against his scalp frustratingly, pinching a lock of hair and staring at it. He's going to need to cut it as soon as he can. It's starting to get in the way of his vision.

Hyperion sits up then, his head turning frantically. Heath looks over his shoulder at his partner.

"What is it?"

"Please let go of me," a firm female voice drifts in from the open balcony door. Heath immediately turns, the hair on the back of his neck and his arms prickling. Hyperion tugs at his tunic with his teeth, and Heath places his feet on the balcony floor softly.

"Ah, come on," a harsh voice replies. "Why you gotta be so proper and former? You got a pretty face, can't you have a few stands every now and then?"

"Let go of me." She's dropped the formalities now.

Then a redhead steps back in front of the balcony, her wrist grasped by another man, and looks at the figure making his way towards her. Her eyes widen.

Heath narrows his eyes at the man with his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Let go of her."

"Why should I?" the man snarls. "She's mine. I saw her first."

Heath's fist connects with his jaw, and the man staggers back. There's no stank of alcohol on the man. Heath's heart grows colder.

"She's not something you can claim, like an object," Heath says, his voice dangerously low. "You ought to rethink your thoughts on humans. They're not toys."

The man stares up at him with terrified eyes, and then darts out of the castle. Heath closes his eyes, taking in deep breaths.

Gentle fingers brush the back of his balled fists, and he turns.

"Heath," she breathes.

"Priscilla," he whispers in response, the anger expelled from him at the sight of the woman he loves. "What are you doing in Etruria?"

She throws herself at him, her arms wrapped tightly around him as she lets out a choked sob. He staggers back, but his hands rest on the small of her back and he rests his head on her shoulder, because it's instinct, it's something that's never left his body even after these long years without her.

"I was captured… They were going to execute me tomorrow… Heath…" she pulls back, cupping his face in her hands. "I never thought I'd see you again…"

"Priscilla, I… I can't stay here," he murmurs. His heart breaks at the look of disappointment on her face, the unhappiness in her eyes. "My contract is over now that Etruria has been liberated. I have no reason to stay here. I must bring my squadron back home."

"Am I not enough of a reason?" she inquires softly.

"I love you," he whispers, "but you can't love me. I can't love you. I'm sorry…"

He kisses her after that, and there's something so guiltily satisfying to know that she'll never love anyone other than him, that he'll always be able to call Priscilla his love.

"You promised you'd come back," Priscilla whispers, clasping his hands in hers. "And when you finally come to me… you must leave again?"

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, his lips barely brushing hers every time he speaks.

"Tomorrow, I must see you off as the Countess Caerleon. Please… allow me this precious moment."

"Yes…" he agrees softly, and she kisses him fervently, her hands in his hair and his hands pulling her closer, ready to love her, appreciate her, treasure her.

So when the morning comes and she sees him off as a countess of Etruria thankful to him for escorting Count and Countess Reglay to a safe place, he can't bear to look her in the eyes, and just bows his head.

~ / . / . / ~

He receives summons from a seemingly lost friend one day, and is in Caelin the next morning.

"Heath," Kent greets rather exhaustingly.

Heath gets a good look at the paladin. His orange hair is less vibrant, dulled with the streaks of gray running through his hair. His eyes are still sharp though, his strength, skill, and speed are still among the best.

Heath bows. "Commander Kent."

"Rise, old friend," Kent responds. "You shouldn't address me like that."

"You're my contracter. I ought to show you some respect."

At that, Kent laughs. "If you want to show me respect, you can do so by not calling me Commander. I almost despise that title now. It's what landed me in this spot of trouble, after all."

"Speaking of, what is this spot of trouble? You hired me on those grounds, didn't you?"

"I did," Kent agrees. "But right now, I'd like you to meet the platoon you'll be commanding."

And so Heath spends the rest of his day extensively training the new squadron he's gained control of. Yet the question that Kent had refused to answer churns in the back of Heath's mind, grinding away even while he's shouting commands and sparring.

So it's not a surprise that, when Heath sees Kent leading his horse into the stables, he calls out and hurries after him.

"Heath," Kent smiles as they walk through the stable hallways. He opens the door to his horse's stable, and his steed trots inside.

"How are you, Kent?" Heath asks, leaning over the stable as the knight releases the reins from his horse and fills the trough with water and food.

Kent steps out of the stable and sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Tired, to say the least. Although, it is something that happens every day, so I cannot say I am not used to it."

Heath nods. "Being Commander can't be easy."

"Make sure you take care of yourself, Heath," Kent murmurs. "You're a commander too."

Heath grunts, and they walk through the castle grounds in ambient silence until Heath breaks it with a single question.

"Why did you call me here?"

Kent takes in a deep breath, and then purses his lips. "Let us sit down. It's… a long story."

So, after Kent takes a detour to grab them each a bottle of ale, they sit in chairs facing each other in Kent's room.

"There's a rebellion. Some people wish for Caelin to be an independent province again, and in the midst of this war, with the Liberation Army away and Etruria too weak to retaliate… they think this would be the best time. By the time the Liberation Army comes back, it will be too late. I… I have no choice but to suppress it."

"So you hired me to help you."

"You… were the only one I could trust that would command a fleet for my sake."

"What of Sain?"

At that, Kent flinches in pain. "Sain… died on the way here. The Sacaens - the Djute - ambushed him. As strong as he was, he was no match for them."

"So Fiora…"

"She is cremating his corpse now. She said she will try to come, but doesn't know if she can. That's why… I needed you here."

"I see."

Heath takes a moment to look around the room then. It's the former Lord Hausen's room, since Kent is the steward of Caelin and Lady Lyndis lives in Ostia with her lord husband, Lord Hector. The curtains are drawn, and there's a cloth of velvet covering a large area of the wall. Heath tilts his head.

"What is that?" he asks curiously.

Kent blinks in confusion, and when Heath points he follows his finger until his eyes meet the red draped across the wall and his eyes become burdened with sadness.

"They're paintings of the marques's lineage. Lord Hausen, Lady Madelyn… and Lady Lyndis." His voice cracks at the last name, and Heath knows what has caused it. It doesn't take him much to figure it out.

"You loved her," he murmurs. Kent bows his head in shame and guilt.

"I did. Yet she could never be mine. She was too perfect. Too beautiful, too powerful, too aggressive and loud to be mine. She was made for Lord Hector. Brash, but calming. Never hesitant, but careful. Two halves of a whole. Her heart never held a place for me." Kent pauses, then glances at Heath. "I'm sorry. That was inconsiderate of me. I can't even begin to imagine the pain you went through."

Heath folds his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He purses his lips, suppressing the feelings he's told himself never to feel again, and it's as if Kent can tell because he lets out a shaky breath and his eyes brush over with an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, Heath."

"No… I've been lying to myself, and to everyone around me. I love her. That's something I can't deny. It's no use trying to suppress these feelings, is it?"

So Kent stays by his side as he holds his face in his hands, letting the silent tears dripping down his face express everything he couldn't.

"I'm sorry I never joined," he murmurs eventually. Kent shakes his head.

"You never were meant to be duty-bound to one person. You are the lance of justice, Heath. Continue to serve us all in the ways you wish to."

Heath smiles, bowing his head, face sticky with dried tears. "As you say, Commander Kent."

~ / . / . / ~

He returns to Bern on a cold winter night, a blonde-haired woman beside him.

Vaida had found him on the road back to Ilia from Caelin, and had recruited him to join her in Bern. He couldn't find it in himself to refuse the commander he'd once made a promise to, and so agreed to travel with her, even against his heart - the thing he's listened to for years - screaming at him to never return to the monstrous country he had once lived in.

"There," Vaida points at the castle in the distance.

"Mm," Heath murmurs. "It has been a long time since I last saw this castle."

"It has," Vaida agrees gruffly. There's a hint of weakness in her voice, but she shakes her head, and it's gone. "Come."

They glide to the front of the castle, and the guards call out, "Who goes there?"

"Apologies," Heath answers, swooping down in front of the soldiers standing in front of the doorway. "We went flying, and didn't expect to come back so late."

"What's your name, soldier?"

"Hea - "

"Heanius," Vaida interrupts, coming up behind him. He purses his lips, cursing himself for his carelessness. "My name is Valter."

Heath blinks, and notices that she's pulled her cloak loosely around herself. She never had many womanly features, so he supposes it's easy for her to masquerade as a man.

"Heanius and Valter… Very well. I will not report this to the king, but be on your guard."

"We will. Thank you," Heath thanks, nodding his head before guiding Hyperion to the stables. Sure, he might not have been in the castle for a long time, but he stills knows the place like the back of the head. There are upsides to having nightmares of this place, after all.

After putting Hyperion away, Vaida leaves him to find a free room for himself, and so he stumbles into the first unoccupied room he finds, removes his armor, and falls onto the bed, hoping that the nightmares will go away because he's finally back and there's nothing to be scared about.

Yet the nightmares are still there, even stronger than before, and he wakes up in the middle of the night with heavy sweat beading his forehead and arms and body.

He closes his eyes, attempting to wash them away, but all it does it bring them back. His friends, his comrades, all slaughtered beneath axes and lances and swords and magic, shot down by arrows that were should never have been meant to shoot them down if their army's commander hadn't been such a weak man and a reputation hogger.

He can't do it anymore, he knows, and so he sits up abruptly, his blankets sliding off of his bed.

"Screw this," he hisses under his breath, and pulls on his armor, slowly tiptoeing from this room to the stables.

When Hyperion sees him, slipping through the alleys of the stables with a lance in hand and his saddle and reins in the other, Hyperion's jaw stretches up in something similar to a smirk, and Heath can't help but smile too.

When he looks back at the castle, Hyperion screeches, and Heath looks away.

The last time anyone sees him is when Hyperion flies away from the mountains and into the tall looming sky, flies away from Vaida and Bern, the country he loves but can't fight for, away from his love, away from those allies he'd thought he'd had and the ones he'd thought he lost.

In his life, there could only be enemies, allies, and nothing more.


End file.
